


the cold never bothered me anyway

by rain_sleet_snow



Category: Primeval
Genre: Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Skiing, Swearing, Veiled Declarations of Affection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-26
Updated: 2018-03-26
Packaged: 2019-04-08 13:44:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14106663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rain_sleet_snow/pseuds/rain_sleet_snow
Summary: Lester told him so.





	the cold never bothered me anyway

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fredbassett](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fredbassett/gifts).



> For the lovely Fred on her birthday.

“Global warming,” Lester said darkly, surveying the gleaming white piste with a critical eye. “It was slushy yesterday; it’ll be icy today.”

 

Lyle nudged him with one shoulder, affectionately. “It’ll be fine. Admit it, you’re enjoying yourself.”

 

“Extremely, but I seem to have left my sense of humour in the pocket of my other ski jacket.”

 

“You haven’t got another ski jacket, my little fruitbat,” Lyle said, shifting his weight expertly and allowing his skis to slide forward, curving onto the slope. “Come on.”

 

Ten minutes later, Lyle was struggling to sit up in a cloud of glittering white snow, the lines carved by his skis cutting a crazed line across the piste where he'd lost control. Lester skied over with much greater care, avoiding the patch of ice which gleamed a faint, almost unnoticeable blue, and bit back an exclamation when he saw the strained look on Lyle’s face, and the way one of his arms was hanging oddly.

 

“I’m fine,” Lyle said shortly, mouth hardly stirring from its grim, hard line.

 

“That shoulder is dislocated,” Lester pointed out.

 

“I know,” Lyle said, and squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. “Fuck, it hurts, and this is fucking embarrassing!”

 

A small child zipping down the black run in a brightly coloured tabard eyed them with interest. Lyle, who was good with teenagers but awful with under-tens, bared his teeth in an attempt at a smile. The child’s teacher yelled in French for them to stop, and then yelled at Lester - still in French - that she was calling for a medic.

 

“Look on the bright side, Jon,” Lester said, sitting down in the snow next to him and keeping an eye out for the rescue team. “You've still never been rescued from a cave.”

 

 

The hospital treatment, at least, was commendably quick and efficacious, and Lyle cheered up slightly on learning that he could still drink with his painkillers. He cheered up a lot more after Lester ran him a hot bath, cushioning his bad shoulder with several spare fluffy towels, and reheated potato dauphinoise to go with steak and salad. Iona, the chalet girl, was one of Liz's few female friends and had clearly been carefully briefed: tasty, reheatable home-cooked meals and sides stacked the fridge, and bore a remarkable resemblance to Lester and Lyle's favourite foods.

 

The wine selection was also highly acceptable.

 

“I could get used to this being helpless,” Lyle observed cheerfully, having had his dinner brought to him, his steak cut up, three separate drinks handed to him, and his favourite piece from Lester’s extensive collection of classical music put on the speakers for him. It had been a hard-fought battle to keep him from playing his own highly unsoothing selections instead.

 

Lester rolled his eyes. “You're right-handed.”

 

“I'm in agony.”

 

“Not on those painkillers you aren't.” Lester frowned. “If you are we should go back to hospital.”

 

“Anything but that!”

 

“You’ll lead me to believe that you didn’t like those whining timewasters in Emergency.”

 

“I bloody didn’t, that’s why.” Lyle helped himself to a mouthful of steak, and a look of genuine pleasure crossed his face.

 

Lester looked down at his own plate to hide a smile, and for a few minutes there was nothing but contented silence and the sound of cutlery scraping against emptying plates.

 

“I could get used to this,” Lyle said again, breaking the quiet as he sat back in his chair. The words could have been light, but they weren’t.

 

Lester set his glass of wine down and looked up, catching Lyle’s eye. There was an uncharacteristic softness on his face: it made Lester’s heart skip and then settle, and warmth spread out through his ribcage, feeding into a smile that matched the one curving Lyle’s mouth just slightly.

 

“Being waited on hand, foot and finger?” Lester said dryly.

 

“Well,” Lyle said, grinning, and clinked his glass very lightly against Lester’s. “That too.”


End file.
